He’s so loud that I can hear him all the way over here, despite the angry shouts from the Aces fans in the crowd. Theo looks like he’s ready to take a swing, but the refs are on the two of them in a matter of seconds, pushing them apart and making sure they don’t get at each other’s throats. Theo’s face is red, his teeth bared, but he knows better than to get into a tussle with the refs.

Once they’ve gotten the situation under control, one of the refs skates out to announce a tripping penalty for the Coyotes. Their players and fans are all furious, and their coach hurls expletives at the ref from their box, but maybe they should’ve thought about that before they decided to play dirty.

My eyes shoot to my father, who’s watching all of this happen, but he just stands there calmly with his chin in his hands, shaking his head.

“What’s gotten into these boys tonight?” my mother asks, startling me out of the trance I’ve been in. I’ve been so focused on the action happening on the ice that I completely forgot she was sitting and watching it with me.

“I don’t know. They’re playing like it’s game seven of the finals,” I say, shaking my head at another near-collision on the ice. “I guess they’re all just hungry for a win.”

“They always want to win, though. That doesn’t mean they need to rip each other apart to get there.”

“You’re not wrong.” I huff out a quiet laugh. “Dad always says the best players keep their heads when everyone else is losing theirs.”

The third period intensifies as the clock winds down. Every hit seems harder, every shot more desperate. The Aces one-goal lead has both teams playing with barely contained fury—our guys defending like their lives depend on it, the Coyotes attacking with increasing recklessness.

I wince as Noah takes a punishing check but manages to stay on his feet. Maxim nearly gets caught with a high stick that thankfully misses his face by inches. The crowd around us is on edge, the tension in the arena thick enough that the air feels heavy.

“That ref needs to get control of this game,” my mother mutters as another scuffle breaks out along the boards.

“Five minutes left,” I note, glancing at the scoreboard. “If they can just maintain⁠—”

My words die in my throat as the Coyotes win the face-off and their center immediately breaks away with the puck. The crowd roars as he charges down the ice with surprising speed for someone his size. The Aces defenders scramble to get back in position as he barrels toward our zone.